


Minsk, 1995

by badtothebinding



Series: Off Screen Adventures of Casey and Gertrude [1]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtothebinding/pseuds/badtothebinding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what happened on that fateful night in Minsk between Casey and Gertrude?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minsk, 1995

_Minsk, 1995_

 

“Casey,” squawked the walkie on Corporal John Casey's, shoulder, “do you have eyes on the target?” Casey readjusted his shoulder and squinted through the scope of his sniper rifle.

“Affirmative, Colonel.” He was currently freezing his ass off in the dusty storeroom of an abandoned factory warehouse, waiting for his orders to take out the last remnants of the KGB infrastructure. Technically the United States government was on better terms with the former Soviet Union, but then again, this mission wasn't “officially” sanctioned by the US government.

“The target is stationed in the factory office across from my position. Awaiting the arrival of former KGB chairman Vladimir Kryuchkov. The communique we intercepted designated this as the meet.” Casey released the walkie and chafed his frozen hands, his breath a fog in front of his face. “Damn Eastern European winters. They didn't call it the Cold War for nothin'.” If this stinkin' Commie despot would just hurry his ass up, he could be done in two quick pulls of the trigger and get out of this frozen pit of despair.

“Stay sharp, Casey” The walkie squawked again. “I'm calling for complete radio silence until the mission is complete. If the mission goes south, rendezvous back at headquarters at 06:00. Keller out.” The line went dead, and Casey was again left alone to the frigid night air. He readjusted his grip again and did a quick perimeter check.

There. Headlights flashed against the, mostly broken, windows of the factory as a GAZ M23, the preferred vehicle of the KGB, parked and four men in great coats and woolen hats stepped out. Casey could easily tell the muscle from the chairman. From his vantage point it looked as if Kryuchkov was telling his goons to guard the perimeter while he went inside and up the small staircase to the office where the target was waiting.

Casey kept Kryuchkov in his sight as he entered the room, and was about to pull the trigger when he paused. Something wasn't right. Why would the former head of the KGB secret police come to any meet with only three guards. Too late, Casey realized he wouldn't. This was all a set up. That's when he heard it. Only a small creak, but it was enough. Casey grabbed his sidearm from it's holster on his leg as he stood up and spun toward the door.

“Corporal Casey, US Marine Corps, come out and show yourself,  _comrade._ ” he growled as the shadowy figure behind the partially opened door finally walked into the dim light coming from the lamps outside the windows.

Gertrude stopped with her hand on the doorknob, annoyed at the fact that she had lost the element of surprise. Although, she had had ample time to burst in and disarm this  _corporal_ before he'd made her. But something had stopped her. She pushed the door open wider and slowly came into the room. With “Corporal Casey” facing her now, she was glad she hadn't been too trigger happy. The corporal was wearing all black, to blend with the shadows, but that didn't stop her from noticing the broadness of his shoulders, or the strength in his arms and hands, which were currently holding a  _Heckler & Koch Mark 23, _ leveled directly at her heart.

“Nice sidearm,” came the surprisingly feminine voice from the shadows. Casey squinted into the darkness and could just make out the form of a female agent in standard issue KGB uniform holding a pistol aimed at him. She was wearing an overcoat, but that didn't stop Casey from noticing the way the muscles in her legs seemed to be molded from steel. “I'd love to get a... _handle_ on it.” She purred as she inched nearer, but her gun hand never wavered, locked securely on Casey's chest. Despite himself, Casey felt heat flushing his neck, and was glad that she couldn't see it in the dark room.

“Not so bad yourself,  _Smith & Wesson 1911_ if I'm not mistaken.” Casey felt himself inching closer as well, curiosity piqued by this sultry agent. He did always appreciate a good gun. And if the woman holding that gun was hard as nails with a sensual mouth and a smirk in her eyes...well could he be blamed for taking a closer look?

“You know your firearms” Gertrude replied, “I like that in a man.” She smiled as she cocked her gun. “Too bad you'll never leave this room alive.” Her eyes, dancing before, hardened now as she looked over Casey's shoulder at the rifle and it's target. “You see, I'm Chairman Kryuchkov's personal security agent, and I simply can't allow my employer to be assassinated. At least,” she amended with a crooked smile, “not until I get my fee.” She was so close now that the only things separating them were the muzzles of their own weapons, trained at each others' hearts.

Casey could smell her now, and instead of a perfume like any other women, her scent was a mixture of gun oil, leather, and frost. Casey breathed it in as he felt something pulse inside him, something he had never really felt before, even with Kath. He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and shook his head to rid himself of the traitorous thoughts. He had to flush out his headgear if he wanted to complete this mission in time. That meant finishing this. Now.

“Your  _employer_ is a stinking Commie fear-monger who somehow conned his way out of a life in prison.” With that, Casey straightened his spine and cocked his own gun. “I'm here to make sure he pays for his crimes against humanity.” He smirked back, but the look in his eyes wasn't one of contempt, far from it.

“I'm afraid I can't allow that, Corporal” Gertrude's voice trailed off and she looked into Casey's eyes, searching for something. She could tell he felt the connection between them, like she did. Like this meeting was more than just a standoff between enemy agents. If she believed in sappy nonsense like “destiny” or “fate” she might say that she was  _meant_ to meet Casey. From this close she could see that his eyes were a surprising shade of light blue, and she could make out the faint crescent shape of a scar on his right cheek.

They just stood there in silence for a moment until the sound of an engine starting caught their attention. Gertrude was the first to react. Time to wrap it up, she thought reluctantly as she suddenly kicked up with her left foot, knocking Casey to the floor and sending his gun flying into the air. Gertrude caught the pistol in her left hand and had both guns trained on Casey again before he could get back to his feet. He growled low in his throat as he kneeled with his arms up.

“Mm. Comfortable grip, nice weight, well balanced.” Gertrude commented as she hefted the gun in her hand. Casey watched, aroused despite himself. The woman knew her way around a gun, that was for damn sure. “Well maintained, too. I bet you know how to treat a lady,” Gertrude said with a wink.

Casey slowly stood, hands still in the air. “I've never had any complaints” he rumbled back with a knowing look. Gertrude felt like she was on fire, even though it was below freezing in the dark, dusty room. She huffed out a slight breath, letting her guard down for a split second, and that's when Casey pounced.

Gertrude gasped as Casey slapped the gun out of her right hand, sending it tumbling under a pile of broken crates, and brought up his own gun. Before she could get off a shot, Casey pushed her arm up, and the bullet shot soundlessly through the suppressor into the ceiling. Casey wrested his pistol from her grip, but she came back with a round house and knocked it from his own hand and it flew behind a pile of canvas sacks.

Before he could regroup, Gertrude grabbed Casey's arm in a hold, bending it up to his shoulder. Casey reversed the hold and spun her around, throwing her face first to the wall and wrenched her arm up to the middle of her back. From this position, her scent was unavoidable and Casey paused to sniff her hair. Gertrude used this distraction to ram an elbow into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him so she could back him up to the wall, holding her forearm over his neck.

She leaned closer, feeling the strength of the cords in his neck and got a closer look at the scar just inches away from his full lips. She pressed even closer, their breath mingling in a cloud between their parted lips. Casey could feel her body heat through her coat; could feel her breasts pressing against his chest even as their eyes met once more. Suddenly they weren't pushing each other away, but instead Gertrude pressed her hands to Casey's cheeks even as Casey caressed her back and sides through the opening in her coat. Casey groaned as his hands reached her backside and she reflexively wrenched his head back by his hair. Stepping up on her toes, Gertrude finally pressed their lips together in a kiss that immediately became more like a battle; lips crushed together, tongues battling for dominance, teeth scraping lips. Gertrude finally pulled back for air, gasping, and nipped at Casey's lip as he pulled her legs up around his hips and turned them around so he could brace her back against the wall.

As their hands traveled, almost of their own accord, and their mouths explored each others lips, faces, necks, Gertrude faintly thought that this was probably a mistake, but such a  _delicious_ one that she didn't care. Casey weakly remembered that he was supposed to be doing... _something_ ...but couldn't for the life of him give a damn what that thing was if it didn't have something to do with this woman and that little whimpering sound she made when he did  _that_ to the tender flesh behind her ear.

He realized belatedly that he didn't even know this woman's name, but maybe that was for the best. This couldn’t' last; her, a KGB mercenary, and him, a US Marine on the fast track to a promotion in the NSA. They both knew this was just a one time deal; to relieve the tension. They would both go their separate ways when this was over, and would probably never see each other again. Right now however, there were more  _pressing_ matters at hand.

Gertrude noticed Casey's lack of attention as she kissed and nibbled her way along that strong, straight jawline, down his thick neck, and down his chest, reaching her hands up under his black undershirt, rucking it up around his pecs, and raking his back with her dull nails. Both sets of hands started moving more frantically as a sense of desperation and urgency seemed to permeate the air. Hands groped under clothes and zippers were undone as Casey and Gertrude crashed down onto the pile of canvas bags in a writhing tangle of combat boots, camouflage, and skin covered in gooseflesh in the frigid air.

When the two had collapsed in a heap, breathless and boneless, Casey looked up at the ceiling, noticing the hole where the round had shot through earlier. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He looked back over at the woman lying next to him. Her coat was still pushed open, exposing her heaving chest under that sexy black tank top she wore. Now that he had some time, he looked over at her face, starting with those lips that had drove him crazy just a few minutes ago, and then up to her nose, which was just a little too big for her face, but was strong and straight. Then up to her smoky eyes that teased him, but could be cold as ice. Those eyes narrowed as she caught him staring.

“You got a first name, Corporal Casey?” She drawled as she crawled up so that she was leaning over him, her breasts pressing onto his chest again as she caressed that sexy little scar with her thumb.

“J- John” he groaned out, pressing up against her as his hands wandered freely down her back. “You?” he ground out against the side of her neck as he brushed a bit of hair out of her face. He felt her own hand in his as she kissed him again, hungrily. He was so distracted he didn't notice until he heard the unmistakable click that he was cuffed to a metal table bolted to the floor near their heads.

“The name's Gertrude Verbanski, and don't forget it.” Gertrude barked as she stood up, pulling her shirt down and buttoning up her jacket. Casey growled and pulled at the cuff, but only succeeded at bruising his own wrist. Gertrude reached down out of Casey's view and came back up with the  _Heckler & Koch._ Casey went still as she checked the magazine and caressed the suppressor, not taking his eyes off her slender fingers.

“It really is a beautiful gun,” she sighed as she leveled it back at him. “Prettier than a dozen roses...” she smirked again in a way that he tried to find infuriating, failing miserably. “It's been a  _pleasure_ doing business with you, John. Hope we can do this again some time.”

“Likewise, Gertrude.” Casey growled with a feral grin. “Next time don't expect me to be so easy on you. Turn about's fair play, after all.”

“ _Do svidanya,_ John Casey.” Gertrude said softly as she blew a kiss, turned around, and walked out the door.

 

 


End file.
